


I Think You Know

by idmakeitbehave



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, a christmas party and handmade gifts and love and ALLLL of the fluff, also hotch in a santa costume because why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28206111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idmakeitbehave/pseuds/idmakeitbehave
Summary: Spencer has spent literalmonthsworking on his Christmas gift for you and he still almost chickens out. He's already embarrassed, already convinced that you'll hate it. He's fairly certain he might actually die of a broken heart if that happens.(Thankfully he'll never have to find out.)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 158





	I Think You Know

Spencer almost chickens out.

He’s spent literal _months_ on this and he still almost chickens out, stopped only by the fact that he doesn’t have a backup plan. The only thing worse than giving you a horrible gift that you’ll hate is not giving you anything at all.

At least, he thinks that would be worse. He honestly isn’t quite sure.

Spencer should have just bought you something, _anything._ The thing is though— he couldn’t do that. You deserve something special, something made specifically for you. Nothing he could find at any store would do you justice.

Although now that he’s _vastly_ overthinking it, he realizes that his gift doesn’t particularly do you justice either. He’s already embarrassed and you haven’t even opened it yet.

Merry freakin’ Christmas.

The shiny purple gift bag sits underneath Rossi’s extravagantly large tree and it’s like Spencer can _feel_ it mocking him. There’s no way for him to prepare himself for the mortification that’s going to steamroll him when you open your gift. He’d gotten the rest of the team regular gifts, store bought gifts. Don’t get him wrong, he still put a lot of thought into them, still made a valiant effort to get something just right for each and every person.

It’s just— not quite the same. And he’s quickly coming to the realization that a room full of profilers will be acutely aware of why that is.

Spencer’s not really prepared for a bunch of eggnog-drunk FBI agents to become fully cognizant of his ever-growing crush.

That is, if they don’t already know.

(They definitely do.)

He runs a hand over his face, letting out a quiet groan and leaning back into the couch. Maybe if he sinks down far enough, it’ll swallow him up.

No such luck.

“Feeling the holiday cheer, kid?” Rossi chuckles, holding his glass up towards Spencer. Just by the look on his face, Spencer knows immediately that he knows. Rossi _always_ knows.

Spencer half-heartedly raises his own drink to Rossi’s, the pathetic clink of glass on glass really serving to echo just how pitiful he feels.

“Don’t worry,” Rossi continues with a wink. “They’ll love it.”

Yep. Of course he knows.

The doorbell rings, blessedly saving Spencer from making a pointless attempt at denial. He’s always been a lousy liar, and this is no exception. If anything, it gets even worse when it comes to the topic of you. He finds himself getting even more flustered than normal, his words never coming out quite the way he intended.

He can only imagine what he’s going to look like when you open this goddamn gift. Once again he curses himself for going through with this.

It had sounded like a good idea months ago when he had first thought of it— an _excellent_ idea even. The two of you had been in a thrift store one weekend, sipping matching cups of coffee as you wandered lazily up and down each aisle.

Spencer wasn’t normally one for thrift stores, didn’t so much as want to _touch_ clothing that had been who-knows-where, but he had quickly come to accept that he would go anywhere with you. He was mostly just watching you as you rifled through the racks of sweaters. You let out a little laugh, pulling one off to show him. “Look at this, Spence!” It was one of the ugliest sweaters he’d ever seen— he could tell just by looking at it that it was insanely scratchy, the tinsel on it illuminating an incredibly wonky-looking snowman.

“I’ve always wanted an ugly Christmas sweater,” you had sighed before placing it back on the rack. “But not like this one. Like… a cute ugly one. This one might be too much.”

And that had set it all in motion.

Spencer’s so lost in thought, in regret, that he barely hears you and Rossi speaking at the front door over the instrumental Christmas music that drifts through the speakers. It’s only when he hears footsteps approaching the living room that he looks up.

One look at you and he’s instantly at a loss for words. You’re quite literally _glowing_ — your sweater is a deep emerald green, your leggings are red and white striped, and to top it all off, there’s a bow on top of your head. An actual bow— one of those shiny red ones that you find on top of presents.

Spencer’s certain that you’re the greatest gift he’s ever seen.

He’s been staring for too long— you’ve caught him. “I know, I know,” you say, waving your hand at your outfit. “I like to go overboard.”

Spencer’s face is already turning red as he stammers out a response. “No, no, it’s— it’s perfect.”

He can feel Rossi’s knowing gaze on him. _Goddamn mind reader._

Eventually you and Spencer wander towards the kitchen, finding the rest of the team there. The party is finally in full swing— drinks are flowing, everyone’s laughter growing louder throughout the night. At some point someone switches the music from classy instrumental to a rotation of the more popular hits, much to Rossi’s chagrin.

Penelope’s in the middle of belting out the Mariah Carey classic for a _third_ time— “All I want for Christmas _isssssssss_ —” when the music comes to an abrupt stop. She looks up with a glare, tottering slightly on her precariously high bright red heels. “Who’s the Grinch that dares interrupt Miss Mariah?”

Rossi raises his hand. “That would be me. I think it’s time for presents.”

 _That_ changes Penelope’s attitude. She lets out a squeal and jumps, grabbing Derek’s arm to steady herself. “Yes, yes, yes. Alright, I’ll forgive the interruption just this once.”

Rossi gives a mock-bow. “Why thank you, your Highness.”

You let out a snort at that, knocking your shoulder against Spencer’s. He can feel the heat in his cheeks at the sudden contact, thankful that he can blame the flush on the excess of eggnog. Not that anyone besides you would believe it.

Everyone shuffles into the living room, arranging themselves around the tree. Spencer finds himself on the floor next to you, shoulder to shoulder. He almost thinks that he imagines it when you snuggle a little closer to him, your leg pressing into his. Then your head drops to his shoulder.

He’s _definitely_ not imagining that.

Spencer lets out a breath that he hadn’t known he was holding when the room erupts into laughter. He looks up in search of the source of entertainment, biting back his own laugh when he catches sight of Hotch. Or more accurately Hotch dressed in a Santa suit— fake beard and all.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Hotch says flatly, just barely able to keep a straight face. “I drew the short straw this year.”

The absolute glee in Emily’s voice is transparent. “That’s a good look for you, Hotch! You should keep the beard.”

He merely glares at her, the effect not quite as strong as usual given his current state of dress. Nothing like a stick-on beard and a crooked Santa hat to put a damper on any attempt at a scowl.

“Leave Santa alone!” Penelope whines, motioning towards the stack of presents under the tree. Apparently even full-grown FBI agents get impatient while waiting to open their gifts.

The laughter finally dies down after Hotch settles on the floor beside the tree— although there are a few residual giggles here and there as he tugs at his costume in an effort to get comfortable.

The nerves overtake Spencer yet again at the realization of what’s about to happen— so much so that the rest of the gift-giving flies by in a blur of hugs and thank-yous. He ends up with a lovely pile of presents beside him. There are a few ties; a couple of mugs; and, of course, a book or two. He blinks and suddenly there are only two gift bags left under the tree. One of them is his— the one that’s been mocking him all evening. The other must be yours to him. It’s the only remaining gift that makes sense as everyone else has already given and received all of theirs.

Spencer’s about ninety-nine percent certain that Rossi and Hotch planned this. He catches Hotch’s eye and watches him smirk minutely as he hands him a shining green gift bag. Make that one hundred percent certain. _Evil, evil man._

His only saving grace is that the instrumental music is on again in the background, the team chatting lowly amongst themselves. Their attention had waned throughout all of the unwrapping, giving Spencer a little relief that it doesn’t quite feel like all eyes are on him. Only yours.

You watch him with uncertainty as he reaches into the gift bag. His fingers latch onto something almost inhumanly soft and he pulls it out, already grinning. That grin only grows wider as he takes in the objects in his hands. It’s a pair of socks.

More than that, it’s a pair of hand-knit socks. One of them is purple and covered in flamingos. The second is a brilliant blue with clouds all over it, a smiling sun right on the toes. Spencer’s an intermediate knitter at best— he knows just how difficult these must have been to make, how hard you must have worked on them. His heart swells as he clutches the socks, bringing them to his chest.

“I love them,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper over the music. “I love them _so_ much.”

Despite the room full of profilers, the two of you are most definitely staring at one another now. It’s as though you’ve forgotten that anyone else exists. JJ nudges Emily in the side, motioning towards where you’re sitting. They both break into knowing smirks and it’s only when Penelope whisper-shouts, “Oooookay, share with the class!” that Spencer looks away from you. He can feel his face turning red again, taking a swig of his drink in a useless attempt to look less flustered than he feels before holding up the socks for everyone to see.

JJ and Penelope let out an ‘ _awww’_ in tandem, and now it’s your turn to look sheepish as you giggle.

“Alright, alright.” Hotch raises his hand, quieting the chatter that’s arisen. “Last gift.”

Spencer mentally curses him for once again putting all eyes on him. Now he might _actually_ die from embarrassment. He feels as though he’s going to wither up under the knowing stare of Rossi as Hotch hands you the purple gift bag.

You grab it and let out a little squeal, and Spencer can’t help but laugh as the bow on your head shakes. It’s almost enough for him to forget the immediate mortification that’s about to crush him. _Almost_.

He watches as you reach into the bag, trying to mentally brace himself. You’re definitely not going to like it. Actually, you’re going to hate it. He’s never been more certain.

This thought is why he’s _completely_ taken aback when you inhale sharply, your eyes widening at the garment in your hands. It’s a sweater.

More than that, it’s a hand-knit sweater. It’s mustard yellow, a fairly simple pattern. You can tell just from looking at it that it’ll be perfectly oversized— just the way you like it. That’s not what got your attention, though. There are five crocheted snowmen across the chest, some with scarves and some with bowties. Little white snowflakes are stitched above them, serving to complete the look.

“Oh my,” someone whispers from behind you and Spencer. Emily, maybe. Spencer can’t be bothered to figure it out. All he can concentrate on are the tears welling in your eyes, the luminous smile on your face.

“Spence,” you murmur. “It’s perfect. It’s everything.”

He can’t help but ask. “You— you like it?”

You nod, holding the sweater to your chest. “I love it. _So_ much. I didn’t know you knew how to crochet.”

“I didn’t.”

Your eyes somehow grow even wider. “You learned how to just to make this?”

Spencer gestures towards the sweater. “It was pretty simple. Crochet is actually easier to correct than knitting. In fact, there are only five main stitches and the rest are all variations—”

“Reid,” Rossi coughs under his breath.

His intervention is a welcome interruption as Spencer suddenly remembers that there are six other people in the room. He exhales, his hands dropping onto his lap. “Yeah,” he nods. “I learned.”

There’s a heavy pause before Penelope claps. “Y/N, you _have_ to try it on. Fashion show!”

Everyone murmurs their agreement and you hop up, heading towards the bathroom with the sweater in hand. The moment you’re out of earshot, a hand claps onto Spencer’s shoulder.

“My man!” Derek laughs. “You did good.”

Spencer merely shoots a glare in his direction and laughter rings out around him.

“What’s so funny?”

You’re back. The glare melts off of Spencer’s face as he watches you twirl around, showing off the sweater. All it takes is one look at you to forget why he ever doubted himself, why he almost chickened out. It fits you perfectly— of course it does. The look is completed by the grin on your face and the sparkle in your eyes. He makes a mental note to commit this moment to memory.

There’s a chorus of oohs and ahhs and you spin around one more time before plopping back onto the ground beside Spencer. 

“More drinks?” Rossi asks, glancing around the room.

Spencer hardly hears Penelope’s cheer of agreement. He’s so busy trying not to stare at you that he barely notices the rest of the team heading towards the kitchen, almost all of them exchanging glances and smirks. It’s only when you bump his shoulder again that he looks back up.

“I think this one is you,” you say, pointing to the snowman with a little blue bowtie.

Spencer snorts out a laugh despite himself. “Oh yeah? And which one is you?”

You point to the one beside it. “The one right next to you, duh!”

“And why’s that?”

You don’t answer. Instead your hand drops from the sweater to reach for Spencer’s, and it’s as though he’s forgotten how to breathe. He blinks at you for just a moment before lacing his fingers with yours. “I think you know,” you whisper.

You move closer, your eyes flickering to his lips. Now Spencer _knows_ he’s forgotten how to breathe. He swallows thickly before daring to reach his hand up to the side of your face, smiling as you lean into his touch.

Before Spencer has time to doubt himself, you close the distance, your lips meeting his. He tugs you toward him and you practically crawl into his lap, laughing into the kiss. Your hands run through his curls as he kisses you hungrily, as if he can’t get enough. He’s absolutely certain he can _never_ get enough of you.

It’s only when a cheer rings out from somewhere behind you that you break apart, turning towards the doorway as you both try in vain to catch your breath. The entire team is standing there, smug grins being shared all around.

“Finally!” Emily sighs, one eyebrow raised as she sips her drink, JJ elbowing her in the side with a smirk of her own.

You laugh, a brilliantly bright sound, completely unashamed. “Oh shush,” you say before pressing one last kiss to Spencer’s cheek and taking his hand in yours.

The spectacle over, the team finally settles into their seats, breaking back into chatter. The din of the music, the happy sounds of your family talking amongst themselves, your hand in his— it’s everything Spencer could ever want.

You drop your head back onto his shoulder, snuggling in close. “You get it?”

Spencer simply nods before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I think I know.”

* * *

:) The sweater:

[ ](https://www.flickr.com/photos/idmakeitbehave/50741495713/in/dateposted-public/)


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